


Magic City Vices

by DistractedDream



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Feefshipping, M/M, Thiefshipping, YGOTAS, birthday fic, lots of 80s references, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedDream/pseuds/DistractedDream
Summary: "You have to come with me," Marik continued obliviously. "They're having an 80s night. And the 80s had the best music." He nodded as though that settled it."Marik, you and my host weren't even alive in the 80s." Bakura had the worst urge to massage his temples. "Why do you want to go to this thing?"The Egyptian pouted and sat up, disappointed that Bakura wasn't more enthused. "To have fun. That's what a vacation is, isn't it? Fun?"Marik's latest scheme sweeps Bakura off to Miami. This might be the one plan Bakura ends up enjoying.





	Magic City Vices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightlyEchoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightlyEchoes/gifts).



> Hi there! This is a little fic written for WolvesOfEgypt's birthday. It's inspired by their Miami Vice-influenced artwork which can be found on their Tumblr at http://wolvesofegypt.tumblr.com/post/156838929159/wolvesofegypt-insert-miami-vice-theme. They were one of the first people to welcome me back into the YGO fandom and I'm really excited to gift this to them. I hope you like it.
> 
> Oh, and yes, there's a playlist! https://open.spotify.com/user/distracteddream/playlist/1NcXo8pJ1CqyvNNW15tRET
> 
> I can be found on Twitter @DistracteDream and on Tumblr @DistractedDream. Please leave kudos or comments if you liked this! I appreciate every single one.

"Bakuuuuuura! I want to go out!"

Bakura grimaced as he pulled his head out from under his pillow. His hotel room was far too small for the amount of noise Marik was making, strains of “Rhythm is Gonna Get You” from Marik’s TV following him across the threshold. After his partner in crime had dragged him to the beach earlier that day, all Bakura wanted to do was nap. Instead, he found his temporary sanctuary violated, the door to their adjoining rooms flung wide open, Marik standing next to it wearing the gaudy airbrushed tank top he'd insisted on stealing and denim cut-offs that even Bakura thought were a touch too short. Bakura groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, hiding his face in the bedding. "Then go out."

Bakura’s breath left him in a huff, the Ring digging into his chest, as Marik flung himself onto the bed and consequently across Bakura. "I want to go out with you, Fluffy! Not by myself." Marik pulled a nonexistent piece of fuzz off his shirt as Bakura watched from the corner of his eye. "Besides, who knows what sort of fangirl riot might start if I went out alone?" Marik stretched, pushing Bakura farther into the mattress. His skin was darker from their beach excursion and, as Marik’s shirt rode higher up his abs, Bakura forced himself not to think of the Speedo that he'd had to convince Marik to wear instead of his usual thong. Bakura, with his host's super pale complexion, had spent most of their beach time under an umbrella which had suited him fine. Better to watch Marik from afar, gaze hidden behind his sunglasses as Marik jumped in the waves, laughing, skin glistening in the sun, wet Speedo clinging to him even more... Bakura coughed and propped himself up on his elbows, not daring to roll over at the moment. "You have to come with me," Marik continued obliviously. "They're having an 80s night. And the 80s had the best music." He nodded as though that settled it.

"Marik, you and my host weren't even alive in the 80s." Bakura had the worst urge to massage his temples. "Why do you want to go to this thing?"

The Egyptian pouted and sat up, disappointed that Bakura wasn't more enthused. "To have fun. That's what a vacation is, isn't it? Fun?"

Bakura turned his head to look fully at Marik. A vacation. For fun. That's why they were in Miami? He had expected some nonsensical plan would be revealed, some activity of the Evil Council that he'd forgotten. To hear that Marik had simply whisked them away for fun... The spirit rubbed his face. He found it harder and harder to resist Marik’s ideas, no matter how silly they seemed. "Yeah, okay. We'll go out if that's what you want to do."

Marik beamed and hopped up off the bed. "Great! I'll get your ensemble!" He dashed back to his room before Bakura could protest. "I kinda had to guess at your sizes. I mean, it's not like they say 'rail thin, no ass' on the tags." Marik breezed back into Bakura's room, carrying a garment bag. "I'll hang this in the bathroom for you. You really need a shower, Bakura. You smell like sand and hot dog water."

"And this is supposed to make me want to accompany you tonight?" Bakura grumbled, forcing himself to roll out of bed, his Pac-man boxers bunched up around his thighs and thankfully not anything else. Marik grinned, making Bakura color as his eyes scanned over Bakura's nearly naked body. "Get out of here and let me get ready in peace," the spirit growled.

He slunk over to the door and Bakura tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed that Marik followed directions for once. "Be ready by nine." With a wink, Marik shut the door, restoring Bakura's quiet. The temptation to crawl back under the covers was hard to resist, but the spirit managed it, stomping off to the bathroom.

The mirror fogged over and steam filled in the air by the time he was done. His wet hair hung heavy on his neck as he dripped onto the tile. _“Vacation. Marik has taken us on vacation.”_ Bakura frowned at his reflection. Two villains taking a vacation, much less one together, didn’t seem right. _“Why in the bloody hell would he have done that?”_

A sleep-soft voice answered him. _“He must have wanted to spend time with you. Are you having fun?”_

Of course his host would choose now to awaken. Bakura towel-dried his hair roughly, spikes popping up as the water was absorbed away. _“I… I don’t know.”_ Bakura tossed the damp towel to the floor and turned to brush his teeth, still scowling. _“He got us separate rooms.”_

 _“Oh.”_ Bakura hated the pity he heard in Ryou’s voice. He spat into the sink and almost was surprised not to see blood for as hard as he was biting his tongue lately. _“Maybe he didn’t want to impose. You do like your space. Or…”_

“Go back to sleep, landlord,” Bakura snarled out loud. He was grouchy from being outside most of the day and then being denied his precious nap. The spirit was in no mood for an analysis of his “it’s a partnership, not a relationship, we just fuck sometimes too” thing with Marik. To his relief, Ryou retreated with only a soft hum, leaving Bakura while he applied black pencil liner around his eyes until the ends were sharp enough to cut a bitch. He smirked, tugging his spikes into their proper positions, pleased with his look.

Pulling on a fresh set of boxer-briefs, Bakura finally considered the garment bag hanging on the door. An outfit Marik had especially chosen for him. To go out to an 80s club. Given what Marik had been wearing since they got to Miami, Bakura had no idea what could be in the bag. He suspected it would be some neon monstrosity, too tight and far too short. Not that he didn't have the legs for it, of course. With a shrug, he slung the Ring back on around his neck and unzipped the bag.

Inside hung a gray Armani blazer over a burgundy shirt, the hems of a pair of white linen pants just visible under the shirt. A suit, a nice suit, even if the colors weren’t exactly what he would have chosen. There was no black to be seen, though the shirt did remind him of dried blood so he supposed that was alright. He slipped into the shirt and slacks, the deep V of the shirt revealing the long line of his throat and his collarbones as he looked at himself in the mirror. The outline of the Ring was barely visible under the material. The burgundy made his skin look even paler and brought out the red tones in his brown eyes. He tugged the jacket on, surprised at not only how well everything fit but that the gray worked so well with the burgundy. It didn’t look very 80s to him but it did look a lot better than he thought a Marik-selected outfit would.

He was putting on the gray loafers from the bag, no socks provided, when a knock came from the front door. Bakura frowned, glancing at their adjoining door, before moving to answer it. “Yeah, wha-” His voice failed him as he opened the door to Marik looking more suave than Bakura had ever seen him.

A perfectly tailored tan suit clung to Marik’s form. A gray shirt, a shade darker than Bakura’s jacket, stretched over his muscular chest, accented by a lavender tie that matched Marik’s eyes. He grinned slyly at Bakura, obviously tickled that he’d made him speechless. “Ready to go? Our ride’s here.”

Bakura shook his head, feeling like an overheated computer. Marik was always gorgeous, but tonight he looked almost suave. Bakura could barely process it. “Yeah. Yeah, let me grab my key.” He took a deep breath and checked his reflection once more, picking up his room key. “What did you do? Order us a taxi?” he asked, pulling his door shut and following Marik down to the elevator.

“Something like that.” A smile teased Marik’s mouth, stepping in as the doors chimed open. Before Bakura could hit the button for the lobby, Marik pounced him, forcing him back against the elevator wall, squeezing Bakura’s hips as he kissed him. Bakura’s knees went weak, clinging to Marik’s arms as his lips parted, letting Marik’s tongue dive into his mouth. The kiss ended far too quickly for Bakura’s liking with Marik pulling away, thumbing Bakura’s lower lip as he finally pushed the button. “You look really good,” Marik murmured. Bakura was too stupefied to reply.

With the barest brush of his hand against Bakura’s, Marik lead him out through the lobby to the circular drive beyond the doors. Bakura scanned the area for the telltale yellow of a cab as Marik stepped toward a car parked right in front of them.

“Mr. Ishtar, the keys are in the ignition. Have a nice evening.” The valet grinned as Marik slipped him a tip.

He walked to the driver’s side, smirking at Bakura’s confusion. The black 1972 Ferrari Daytona Spyder 365 GTS/4 convertible gleamed in the hotel’s exterior lighting. Marik slid behind the wheel, caressing it, flipping the radio on. “You coming, Fluffy?”

Bakura looked at him, palm hovering reverently over the car. He wasn’t one for machines, had always thought horses were better actually, but Bakura couldn’t deny the convertible was sexy. Sexier with Marik behind the wheel. He chuckled and got in next to Marik, arm over the edge of the door. “Gun it.”

“Now, Bakura. That wouldn’t be proper in a nice establishment like this.” Marik’s tone was mocking, but he turned the radio louder as he revved the engine, peeling away from the hotel and into the city’s traffic. “Smuggler’s Blues” filtered above the noise of the Ferrari and the other cars, city lights blurring as they passed overhead. Bakura’s hair whipped behind him in the wind and he tipped his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

Marik sang off-key with the radio as he wove through the downtown traffic and the familiarity of it, of riding with Marik to some unknown destination with the wind blowing through his hair, sank into Bakura’s bones, relaxing him. Marik’s hand on knee broke him out of his reverie, inhaling Marik’s cologne as Marik leaned over to him, “Hot in the City” cutting off as Marik hit the radio with his other hand. “We’re here. Did you fall asleep?”

The spirit opened his eyes slowly, face turned to Marik’s. “No, but I feel like I’m dreaming.” Color stole over Marik’s cheeks as he lingered over Bakura, pulling away without doing more. He handed the keys to the club valet while Bakura got out and waited on the curb. Music thrummed in the warm night air as Bakura eyed the line to get inside. “And now I suppose we wait.”

“Us? Never.” Marik linked their pinkies together, tugging Bakura to the entrance and nodding at the bouncer. Bakura caught a nametag that read “Steve” before he was pulled into the darkened club. “Honestly, I can’t believe you think I wouldn’t have seen to that.”

Bakura followed Marik back through the club, beyond the bar and dancefloor, to a set of plush booths set along the wall. Another guard, also conveniently named Steve, moved aside for them as Marik claimed the corner booth. “Well, that indicates a certain amount of planning and your plans-” Marik arched a blonde brow at him. “Wait,” Bakura said, holding up his hands. “Marik Sebastian Ishtar, III. Did you plan this? Is this…” He floundered as Marik slid into the booth. “…is this a date?”

Lavender eyes rolled to the ceiling. “I already told you. This is a vacation.” He patted the seat next to him. “Now sit down. You look like a foolish fool standing there.” Marik smiled charmingly at the waitress who came by, ordering a double gin and tonic for himself and water for Bakura. “Good thing you don’t drink! I have a built-in sober driver.”

The waitress hurried off to get their drinks and Bakura almost wondered if her name was somehow Steve too. He leaned closer so Marik could hear him over the music. “Marik, you know you can’t hold your liquor.” Marik tipped his nose up haughtily, muttering what Bakura thought was “buzzkill”. “Will you listen to me?” Bakura hissed. Marik defiantly grabbed the glass as soon as the waitress set it down and looked directly at Bakura as he took a drink. “Brat,” Bakura muttered and stretched back in the booth, leaving his water on the table.

Throughout the club, patrons’ neon garb glowed under black lights, a series of typical 1980s pop hits wailing from the sound system. The only one he recognized was “Into the Groove” and that was only because Marik had gone through a week of being obsessed with “Desperately Seeking Susan”. Each song seemed louder than the last to Bakura as he sipped his water, pointedly ignoring Marik as he drank. If his partner wanted to get shitfaced, then he’d be the one with the headache in the morning. Bakura grinned darkly at the thought of waking a hungover Marik in the morning. Marik wasn’t the only one who could be loud.

He heard Marik sniff once, eyes flicking to him as “Let’s Dance” blared over the speakers. Without a word, Marik squeezed out of the booth, rushing to the dancefloor. Bakura groaned but didn’t follow. If the alcohol worked faster through Marik’s system, then he’d be easier to convince to leave. His eyes stopped trying to track the bobbing golden head on the floor and went to Marik’s glass. Barely any liquid was missing. Marik was evidently nursing the liquor and Bakura found himself oddly relieved by that.

Bakura startled as his water was taken out of his hands, Marik standing at the edge of the table, drinking it. Marik looked back at the dancefloor as “You Give Love a Bad Name” started. “That’s not really a good dancing song.” He handed the water back, desire for a truce clear on his face. “Good song, but not for dancing.”

“Classic, really,” Bakura agreed as he took the water, setting it aside for the waitress to refill, the closest he’d come to an apology. Marik stood out from the other barflies in his suit and Bakura’s eyes drifted over him. He’d done well with choosing their outfits. “You look hot.”

Marik cocked a hip and grinned. “Yeah, dancing always gets the heartrate up!” Missing the compliment, Marik shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it next to Bakura. “You can take yours off too. We already made our grand entrance.”

The spirit wasn’t sure if he would agree, but Marik’s eyes shone even in the dim lighting, so he slipped off his blazer as easily as if his name were Steve. Marik plopped next to him, his thigh half on Bakura’s. His lips brushed against Bakura’s ear as the blonde leaned in closer than necessary. “You are going to dance with me, right? I need someone to keep the fangirls at bay.”

Bakura tipped his head to Marik’s, his hair falling over his cheek, shielding them in the shadows. “Yeah,” he whispered. “If a good song comes on.” The flush on Marik’s cheeks from his dancing deepened, eyes widening as they followed the path of Bakura’s tongue as he licked his lips. Bakura’s eyes lidded and he closed the gap between their mouths, the kiss soft and restrained. “Can’t have the fangirls keeping you from me, can I?” Bakura asked silkily. Marik giggled and Bakura wondered when that stopped being annoying and became something he craved instead.

They spent the night curled up in the booth, critiquing the other patrons’ clothes and commitment to the look or which of their fellow Council members would look best in 80s wear. Marik danced more than Bakura, but as long as the Egyptian nursed his G&T, Bakura was content to watch. Marik did sweep him out onto the floor for a few songs, Bakura’s face turning pink as Marik sang Heart’s “Alone” into his ear. He returned the favor later, surprising Marik by knowing all the moves to “Thriller”. They fell back into the booth, Marik gawping at him as Bakura laughed freely. “Blame my occult-loving nerd of a host and muscle memory!”

Marik finished his drink and nosed into Bakura’s neck, too buzzed and too pleased with how the night had gone to care about hiding his affection. “This has been fun. Hasn’t this been fun, ‘Kura?” His hand grazed Bakura’s thigh, head resting on his shoulder. At some point in the night, he’d loosened his tie and undone the top few buttons of his shirt. The short sleeves of Bakura’s shirt left forearms bare, resting one on the table, the other laying over Marik’s lap, holding him close.

The opening to “Time of My Life” came over the speakers, a collective groan going up from the club. “Yeah, looks like the night’s over though. One last dance?” He smiled sincerely as he offered Marik his hand, leading him out to the straggling dancers. Letting go of Bakura’s hand, Marik slung his arms over his shoulders, pressing them together as Bakura’s hands settled on his hips. They swayed together, much slower than the beat of the song, following a rhythm of their own. Bakura stroked his fingers through Marik’s hair, earning him a delighted smile.

They both winced as the lights came up. Marik recovered first. “Ra, this place looked better in the dark.” He danced away from Bakura, leaving money on their table for the tab and tip and gathering their jackets. He dutifully handed over the valet card before putting on his coat. “I’m probably okay, but you really should try driving it too. It’s got great pick-up!”

Bakura hooked his blazer over his shoulder as they left, flicking the card like it was one of their old Duel Monster cards. “I’m rarely in as much of a hurry as you.” He wrapped his arm around Marik’s waist as they waited for the car. “Besides, I’m going back to an empty hotel bed. Not really in a rush to get back to that,” he teased. Marik’s reply was cut off by the arrival of the convertible though Bakura didn’t miss the pensive look on his partner’s face as they got in.

The sky colored violet, pink, and gold as dawn peeked out between the edges of the city skyline. Marik turned the radio up as Bakura drove them around the streets and back across Biscayne Bay to their hotel. “Careless Whisper” was just ending as they pulled back into the hotel’s porte-cochère. Marik held his hand over Bakura’s before he could flick off the radio, whispering in a rush before the hotel’s valet could interrupt, eyes wide and sincere as they searched Bakura’s.

“Your bed doesn’t have to be empty tonight.”

Bakura didn’t immediately answer, grinning as he got out of the car for the valet and circling around to hold the door open for Marik. He helped Marik to his feet, pulling him up along his body. “Watch the sunrise with me.” It was a command, not a request, their fingers tangling together as they walked through the quiet lobby and to the elevators. There were no fierce kisses this time, only Bakura nosing into Marik’s hair as the Egyptian slouched against him. Bakura’s door clicked open and he quickly crossed the darkened room to open the curtains to the sun’s early rays, lighting the room enough to calm Marik’s fears.

Their jackets ended up hung over a chair, Marik’s tie and Bakura’s Ring with them. Their shoes were discarded by the door, Bakura barely keeping his laughter in check as Marik hopped around to take off his socks. Bakura steadied him, his hands on Marik’s hips sliding up to tug his shirt free of his slacks. Nimble thief fingers worked the shirt’s buttons open, Bakura’s lips brushing over Marik’s skin as it was revealed. Marik carded his fingers into Bakura’s hair, arching as Bakura pushed the fabric from his shoulders, lips latching around one of Marik’s nipples and sucking.

Marik’s nails grazed Bakura’s sides as he grabbed at his tee, yanking it over Bakura’s head. The motion forced Bakura’s head up, Marik’s mouth pressing down, reclaiming control as he worked Bakura’s pants open, Marik’s belt falling to the floor as Bakura did the same to him. Together, they stepped out of the rest of their clothes as Marik backed Bakura up to the bed. Bakura put a hand out to steady himself as he dropped onto the mattress. Marik’s length was hard, right in front of him, and Bakura thought about simply sucking him off. An easy blowjob wasn’t what either of them really wanted though, so Bakura pulled back and patted Marik’s hip before slipping back further on the bed.

“Lube’s in the bathroom. Go get it?” Marik grunted at the hint of command in his partner’s voice, but he didn’t feel like getting dressed to get his own bottle out of his room. Bakura’s tongue traced his lips as he watched Marik stalk off. With a quick rearranging of the pillows, Bakura leaned against the headboard, legs splayed, one hand teasing his erection, the other toying with his balls and grazing over his asshole. By the time Marik found the lube and returned, a flush of color covered Bakura from his cheeks to his shoulders, a stream of soft early sunlight falling across his ankles.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” Marik laughed airily, unbothered. He crawled onto the bed between Bakura’s legs, pouring lube over his fingers. “How many this time? Two? Three?”

Bakura bent his knee, angling his hips higher as Marik traced one finger around his rim. “Th-three.” They hadn’t had intercourse in a few weeks and Bakura had an idea. He gasped as a lubed finger penetrated him, the chill of the liquid contrasting against the warmth of his body. Marik didn’t make him wait, a second finger shortly joining the first, forcing Bakura’s body to adjust without additional foreplay. Bakura groaned and rocked down onto his fingers, closing his eyes as Marik found his prostate and dragged his fingertips over it. Bakura squeezed the base of his cock, each rub over his gland urging more precum to well in his tip until it dripped down his shaft.

He sank further into the pillows as Marik leaned over him, bracing himself by Bakura’s shoulder. Bakura found Marik’s lips blindly, circling his arms around his neck as he latched onto Marik’s lower lip and sucked. The spirit broke away, panting, as Marik added a third finger, twisting his wrist. He clung to Marik shamelessly, muscles fluttering around his fingers. Bakura’s cock throbbed, aching to be touched, but he didn’t want it to end like this. A weak noise escaped him and Marik hummed in response.

“I, I’m ready,” Bakura pushed on Marik’s shoulders as he pulled his fingers free, ready to smear more lube over his shaft. “Switch. I mean…” Marik paused, waiting for Bakura to explain. He huffed out a breath, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “Sit here. I want to ride you.”

Bakura hadn’t thought Marik’s eyes could go even darker with lust, but they did and Bakura shivered at how much the color reminded him of Marik’s alterego. Marik crushed their mouths together, tongue plundering into Bakura’s mouth until Bakura whimpered with the need for air, breath hitching. Marik nipped at his throat and finally let him up, rolling until Bakura straddled his lap.

With a cocksure grin, Bakura lifted his hips and fisted Marik’s dick, angling it as he hovered above the tip. There was a moment of temptation to drop straight down his full length but he knew he’d regret that later. Instead Bakura held him until his head breached the rim and then slowly lowered his hips, stopping halfway down. Marik bit his lip, lids heavy as he watched, expecting Bakura to ride him hard and fast. He reached for Bakura’s hips, holding him. “Did… should I have…” Bakura smirked as his usually verbose partner tripped over his words. “More lube?”

White hair flew around Bakura’s shoulders as he shook his head. He lifted his hips and dropped them a fraction lower, grinning lopsidedly as Marik shuddered, nails scoring Bakura’s skin. “You’re good.” He laughed darkly and repeated the motion, stopping before Marik was fully in him once more. “Better than good. A toy couldn’t stretch me, or fill me, half as well as you. Every time we do this…” His hips went up but then didn’t even come down half as far as they had before. “I just want more.”

Marik whined, his resolve crumbling. “Then friggin’ take more!” His hands opened and closed on Bakura’s hips, wanting to pull him down, but perversely enjoying the teasing. His dick almost hurt, it was so hard, caught between the heat of Bakura’s ass and the cooler air in the room. Bakura rocked his body, not giving Marik any relief. He arched, trying to impale Bakura fully. Bakura only moved with him. Marik couldn’t take it and dropped back down. “Please! ‘Kura, please!”

Bakura’s knees splayed wider and he finally plunged down hard onto Marik’s hips, the Egyptian hissing and clutching at him. His hand pressed over Marik’s chest, light against dark, steadying himself as he undulated. Marik’s lashes wavered once, twice, color suffusing his face as Bakura rode him slowly. He ground their hips together, the wet tip of Bakura’s cock smearing over Marik’s abdomen, his balls rubbing between them. Marik’s grip relaxed, palms sliding up and down Bakura’s sides, letting him control their motions, flexing his ass to meet the harder drops when they came.

Golden light flooded across the bed through the opened curtains as the sun rose fully above the horizon. The natural light colored Bakura’s hair, the white strands shining in the sun, the edges turning the same shade as the sun sparkling on the water. He tipped his head back, the soft locks tickling Marik’s thighs. When Marik’s touch skittered over Bakura’s cockhead, Bakura sighed, grinding against him harder. Marik groped for the lube, squeezing some into his palm and curling his fist over Bakura’s shaft. Bakura found an angle that had Marik’s cock driving into his prostate and allowed him to thrust into his hand, working Marik’s cock until their hair stuck to skin that glistened with sweat.

“Marik… Marik, I-”

“Yeah?” Marik licked his lips, voice thick. His abdomen quivered, knowing where Bakura was, watching him grind and bounce, lost to the pleasure. He stroked him faster. “Cum for me. I want it.”

Bakura’s thighs shook and a strangled sound snuck past his lips as his body tensed, balls tightening as his cum shot up Marik’s stomach and chest. Marik didn’t give him time to catch his breath, rolling Bakura under him and hooking his arm under his knee. Their foreheads bumped together as Marik pounded into him, Bakura babbling encouragement as he rode the end of his own orgasm. Marik’s mouth captured Bakura’s, quieting him and stifling Marik’s triumphant shout as he came, cock pulsing as his balls drained into his lover.

They collapsed together, Bakura’s arms wrapping around Marik’s shoulders, breathless kisses falling over their hair and skin. He didn’t want to move. For the rest of the day, for the rest of their lives, Bakura would be content right here, filled with and under Marik. To his surprise, it was only a few moments before a soft snuffle left Marik, his body finally giving out after a full day and night. Bakura petted his hair and his back, using the sheet to dry the sweat off his scars. He would never admit that he might have sung a few bars of “Save a Prayer” to Marik as he slept.

Bakura finally dozed off as well, the sunlight burning through the window with midday heat when he stirred as Marik reached over him. He felt sticky and well used which almost made him feel happy, turning to nuzzle into Marik’s shoulder. “What time is it?” Bakura heard the TV buzz to life, a delay as Marik played with the remote until he found what he wanted. The all-too-familiar “Thank you for being a friend…” broke the silence. He groaned and turned his face into the pillows.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Fluffy!” Marik absently kissed Bakura’s head and Bakura thanked the Shadows that his blushing face was hidden. “We need to look for landmarks! We’re going to go see Blanche’s house today.”

It took multiple websites, room service, and one shower blowjob to convince Marik that the house was a set, but finally he sighed ruefully, leaning against the balcony rail, his shorts showing off his long, dark legs. Bakura slipped up behind him, brushing Marik’s hair off his neck. “Marik? Why did you get us separate rooms?”

“Hm?” Marik glanced over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his disappointment. “Oh, well, you like your space. I thought adjoining rooms would be fine.”

_“Told you.”_

Bakura ignored Ryou, studying Marik as he looked out over the beach. Marik, who more and more Bakura thought of as his, who whisked them away for a vacation themed around a decade neither of them had seen. Marik, whose smile was brighter than anyone’s Bakura had ever seen, whose laugh and mannerisms were a little less grating every day. Marik, who Bakura couldn’t help but want to make happy. Even after everything, there was at least one person beside himself who Bakura wanted to see happy.

He kissed Marik’s shoulder. “You know, I think they filmed Miami Vice in South Beach. Why don’t we take that car of yours for another spin?”

They extended their vacation a few days, even though it meant missing a Council meeting. While Marik gabbed freely about their trip to everyone, he guarded his phone even more now, protecting a picture of Bakura sleeping in bed with him, covered in nothing but sweat and sunlight. And if Bakura’s ringtone had changed to the Miami Vice theme song, no one dared comment on it.


End file.
